No Longer a Gentleman (15 page)

Kirkland looked uncomfortable, but Cassie said tartly, “Of course we’ll talk about you. You’re so utterly fascinating.”

“More of a nuisance than fascinating.” His smile was twisted. “You would have been wiser to have left me to rot in France.”

Grey stalked off, Régine on his heels, leaving Cassie shaken. Kirkland looked equally uncomfortable.

When Grey was safely out of earshot, she said in her driest voice, “Leaving him in France wouldn’t have been wiser, but he’s right that we’re going to talk about him.”

“Of course we are. He’s the reason we’re both here.” Kirkland leaned forward, his expression worried. “Can you tell me more about his … his mental state?”

Hearing what wasn’t being said, Cassie said reassuringly, “Wyndham’s not mad, though he worries that he might be. His moods can be volatile, his temper can be dangerous, and groups of people upset him badly. But he isn’t broken beyond repair. He just needs time.” Surrendering to curiosity, she added, “What do you think? Is he so different from the way he was?”

“No. Yes.” Kirkland ran stiff fingers through his dark hair. “I’ve been trying to imagine what it would be like to spend ten years locked in a cold stone cell, and—it’s beyond my imagination. I want to help, and I don’t know how.”

“He just needs time,” Cassie repeated. “He’s strong, Kirkland. Much stronger than you or he or anyone else expected.”

“He must be, or he really would have run mad.” Kirkland frowned. “I’m grateful for all you’re doing for him, Cassie. But I’m concerned as well.”

“Because of my services above and beyond the call of duty?” she said, her voice edged. “You’ve always known I’m a slut.”

Kirkland’s eyes flared with rare temper. “You know damned well I’ve never given you reason to think such an appalling thing. I’ve never known a woman I’ve respected more.”

“Perhaps for my spying skills,” she retorted. “You’re good at concealing your true thoughts, but I know that I don’t conform to your priggish Scottish morality.”

His expression turned to ice. “Remind me never to be feverish and hallucinating around you again.”

She winced. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have referred to that. But I’m in no mood for a lecture on how inappropriate it is for me to be lying with Wyndham. You have no need to worry. Once he’s ready for normal society, I shall quietly disappear, the way a woman of no reputation is supposed to. I won’t be an embarrassment to the golden boy.”

She rose and turned to leave, but Kirkland caught her wrist. “I’m not worried about you being an embarrassment, Cassie! Wyndham obviously needs you. You freed him, you know what his prison was like, and he trusts you. You can help him heal from the damage he suffered in prison as no one else can.”

She jerked her wrist free. “Then what are you concerned about? Most men are happy when they have warm and undemanding women in their beds, and I’m fulfilling that role competently.”

“I’m worried about you being hurt. Worse than hurt. Devastated, because you’ve already lost more than anyone should lose in a lifetime.” He stood, looming over her. She tended to forget how tall he was. “People have been falling in love with Wyndham since he was in the cradle. Even now, when he’s angry and suffering from the effects of imprisonment, he has that magnetic charm. But there can be no future for you with him.”

“You think I don’t know that?” she snapped, glaring up at him. “Don’t worry, James. I’ve survived worse.” She stalked away, fuming at his words even though they were true. She had indeed survived worse than losing a lover.

But she’d never had a loss like this one.

Temper simmering, Cassie swept out of the conservatory and headed up to her room. She and Kirkland had never quarreled before. And all because the damned man was right. Even damaged and struggling to recover from ten years of hell, Greydon Sommers was far too easy to love—and she could have no real place in his life.

If only her father had listened when she’d begged him to take the family back to England! But she’d been only a child so he’d laughed off her frantic warnings of imminent disaster. At the time she’d not understood why she was so convinced of approaching doom. She’d just known that they should leave France immediately.

In the years since, she’d realized that she had a powerful instinct for danger. That had kept her alive, against all the odds, for a dozen years of perilous work. In the process, she’d been transformed from Catherine, a well-behaved and well-brought-up girl, to Cassandra, a haunted and ignored prophetess and instrument of revenge against the revolution that had destroyed her family.

Her life would have been unimaginably different if they had left France in time. She might have met Grey when they were both young and whole. They might …

She halted at the top of the stairs, startled by the recognition that if they’d met then, he’d never have noticed her. There was nothing special about young Catherine that would have caught the notice of the golden heir to an earldom who was happily sowing wild oats in all directions. She was no more than passably pretty, and as a girl she’d possessed no special charms or talents. The only thing out of the ordinary about her now was her fierce, charmless ability to gather information and survive.

Oddly, that recognition calmed her. She’d have been no use to Grey when she was seventeen, but the woman she was now had been able to free him and get him safely out of France.

She was also in the best position to help him recover from his harrowing experiences. So much more useful than if she were just another girl hopelessly besotted with young Lord Wyndham.

Instead of going to her own room, she tapped on his door. No response. She tried the knob and found the door unlocked. He probably didn’t like being behind locked doors. Or perhaps he wasn’t here at all and had gone for an angry walk across the estate.

She entered the room quietly and saw his long form sprawled across the bed, all angles and gaunt strength. He lay on his side and hadn’t even removed his shoes.

Régine lay beside him, but her head popped up when the door opened. The dog was looking round and well fed.

She jumped down, trotted to Cassie for a head scratch, then left the room. She was probably heading for the kitchen to beg for a handout, or anxious to go outside. She’d taken easily to housebreaking after Grey had adopted her in France.

Cassie moved closer to the bed. Grey looked like a ravaged angel, his face lined with exhaustion. Not just physical fatigue and the aftereffects of being wounded, but the drain on mind and spirit of being back in a world where people had expectations of Greydon Sommers, heir to the Earl of Costain. He’d tried his best to conceal that strain, even from her, but now it was carved into those sculpted features.

She locked the door so no one could enter, then lit the fire laid in the fireplace because the room was chilly. As in her room, the wardrobe held a folded quilt, worn but clean and scented with lavender. She shook it over him, then crawled underneath and lay behind him, molding her body to his and wrapping an arm around his lean waist.

Grey didn’t wake, but he exhaled softly. His hand moved to cover hers where it rested on his chest.

Tension from the difficult scene in the conservatory began to fade as the world narrowed down to this man and this bed and this moment. She was tired, too.

And nothing would soothe her more than sleeping with Grey.

Grey woke slowly, tired and not happy about the scene with Kirkland. But he was relaxed now. He was safe in England and Cassie was cuddled around him. Peace.

Limited peace. From the angle of the sun, he judged it was late afternoon. Soon he’d have to rise and prepare to dine with Lady Agnes and her friends, and tomorrow he would travel to London. An intimidating thought.

He rolled onto his back, pulling Cassie close against his side. Her eyes blinked sleepily, then opened, blue and hazy and deep with acceptance. She smiled up at him. “Régine was here, so I changed places with her.”

“A good trade.” He tightened his arm around her, grateful that she’d joined him. “It appears that you’re the only person I’m really comfortable with. You, and Régine, and perhaps Lady Agnes. In that order.”

“An interesting list. The only thing we have in common is being female.”

“There’s a reason for that. Females tend to be more forgiving.”

“They certainly are forgiving of handsome men.” She slid her fingers into his hair. “But don’t forget Père Laurent.”

Grey thought of his friend’s infinite acceptance, which was very like Cassie’s, now that he thought about it. Grey needed a lot of acceptance. “It’s a good thing you’re forgiving, my lady fox. I’m asking you to do far too much for me.”

“Never too much,” she said quietly. “London and your old life might seem overwhelming at the moment, but it won’t be long before your wings are fledged and you take flight again.”

He wished he had her confidence. Best to take this reemergence into the world one step at a time. And the present step was to appreciate the woman in his arms.

“I’ve wanted to see you naked in daylight,” he said thoughtfully. “And here we are, nicely private and with late afternoon sunshine pouring in the window. I must take advantage of this situation.” He untied the drawstring at the throat of her ghastly shapeless gown. Opening in front, the garment was intended for a peasant woman who had to be able to dress herself without assistance.

“It isn’t the situation you’re taking advantage of,” she said tartly as she batted away his hand. “It’s me. I rather like being safely blanketed by darkness. Night covers my deficiencies.”

He pulled pins from her hair and combed the thick waves around her shoulders with his fingers. What color was it under the dull gray and brown? A nice glossy brown, he guessed, with a shine reflecting her age and good health. She’d washed the lines of age from her face, revealing a complexion with the transparent purity of porcelain. “You underrate your charms, Cassandra. I may not have been able to see you, but I’ve touched as much of your delicious body as I could, and all of it has been first rate.”

He started on the buttons that closed the front of her bodice. “Your bare skin will certainly be lovelier than this appalling gray gown. An uglier garment I’ve never seen.”

She laughed. “That’s rather the point. No man would look at me twice. Not even once if he could help it.”

“Yet you look astonishingly attractive even so,” he mused. “It’s a great mystery.”

She made a face. “Very well, but you must bare yourself as well.” She tugged at his crumpled cravat. “The only time I’ve seen you with your clothes off was when you were shivering in an icy pond at midnight. I was too afraid you’d freeze to death to admire your manly charms.”

“You don’t really want to see me unclad,” he assured her. “Despite your best efforts to feed me up, I’m still more scarecrow than not.”

She grinned wickedly. “Now you know how I feel about my imperfections. Are you willing to forgo mutual nakedness?”

“I am not,” he said firmly. “It’s worth revealing my bony carcass to see your much more pleasing form.”

“Ah, well,” she said philosophically. “If only beautiful people mated, the human race would have died out long since. We must accept each other’s deficiencies.”

She was opening his shirt when he parted her bodice and chemise, laying bare her lovely breasts. Feeling stronger by the moment, he lapped her nipple with his tongue.

She sucked in her breath, eyes widening. “You intend more than looking?”

“I’m not sure how much more,” he admitted. “I may not have recovered enough for what I would dearly like to do.” He rolled her other nipple between thumb and forefinger. “Shall we see how far I can go? I promise you won’t be left unsatisfied.”

“By all means continue,” she breathed. “But undressing will be easier if we stand.”

“You are a natural leader who always has excellent ideas.” He slid from the bed and took the opportunity to toss more fuel on the fire and kick off his shoes. Then he offered his hand with a courtly gesture. “Join me, my lady, in the prelude to seduction?”

She grasped his hand and alighted from the bed with a smile that made her seem decades younger than her appearance, even younger than he knew her to be. “I look forward to removing your garments one by one, my Lord Wyndham.”

She started with his coat, then attacked his shirt. He knew he was showing too many bones, but there was admiration in her eyes and sensuality in her touch as she skimmed her palm over his bare chest.

“My turn now,” he said with a catch in his breath as she pressed her lips to the hollow at the base of his throat. “That gray gown must go.”

“Resist the temptation to burn it,” she warned. “It’s all I have till I return to London.”

He tugged the coarse garment over her head, making a silent vow to buy her silk in the city. She emerged from the gray folds laughing and luscious in her stays and chemise. The more she removed, the lovelier she became.

Garment by garment, they peeled off each other’s clothing with kisses and laughter. When he removed the worn white chemise, leaving her bare and golden in the late afternoon light, he said huskily, “You are even more beautiful than I realized.”

She tugged his drawers down from his hips with a passing caress that temporarily paralyzed his simple male brain. “Lust is warping your judgment.” Wistfully she added, “Though it’s a lovely lie to hear.”

“I can’t deny the lust, but it’s not warping my judgment.” He removed his drawers entirely. “At least, not about how desirable you are.”

“I’m boringly average,” she protested.

“Not average. Quintessential.” He cupped her breasts in his hands, caressing the warm weight. He moved his hands in a slow circle, feeling her nipples harden against his palms. “Every part of you is exactly right. Your breasts are neither too large nor too small, but a perfect handful.”

He kissed the shadowed cleft between them. “Your skin is remarkable. Smooth and almost luminescent, like a sun-touched marble statue by Michelangelo.”

“You … look … better than you claimed, also. Too thin, but such splendid shoulders!” She ran her hands across them to demonstrate.

She was being kind. He knew his ribs were showing and he’d picked up some ugly scars after his capture in Paris. He wished they’d met when he was young and at his best, but as she said, one didn’t have to be perfect to mate. Fortunately.

“You really are perfect,” he said as he skimmed his palms over her hips and thighs. “Like Botticelli’s Venus born of the sea, your proportions are exactly right. Slim but round in all the right places. Beautifully fit and strong.” He kissed his way down the gentle curve of her belly, becoming more aroused than he would have thought possible. She was deliciously feminine and edible.

She gasped as he swirled his tongue around her navel. “Time to go from vertical to horizontal,” he said in a thick voice. Catching her up in his arms, he laid her onto the bed and came down beside her, resuming his kisses down toward the tantalizing mysteries between her thighs.

She cried out and her fingernails bit into his shoulders hard enough to draw blood when his lips and tongue reached her most sensitive, secret places. Her responsiveness was intoxicating, sending fire through his blood.

She shattered around him, her ecstasy driving him to urgent need. He moved between her legs and joined their bodies, merging them so they were as close as man and woman could be. She gasped. “I see you’ve recovered fully, my lord.”

“You are better than any surgeon for healing, my sweet vixen,” he said breathlessly as he rocked into her.

Laughing, she drew him down as they moved together into bliss. This was even better than his first fierce coupling when he was mad for the solace of her female flesh. This was a joining of spirit as well as bodies beyond anything he’d ever known. “Cassandra,” he gasped. “Catherine …”

Perfection.

Even though that evening’s dinner was in the small family dining room, it was the most watchful meal Cassie had ever consumed. Lady Agnes, General Rawlings, and Miss Emily watched Wyndham, the two women also watched Cassie, and Kirkland watched everyone. Grey was worth watching. Golden haired and with the ability to make his borrowed clothing look custom tailored, he was the model of an English gentleman. He spoke little but was effortlessly magnetic.

No one watched Régine, who’d slipped into the dining room and was resting under the table with her muzzle on Grey’s foot. As long as no one took official notice of the dog, she didn’t have to be ejected. She’d fattened up noticeably since they found her.

The tightness around Grey’s eyes made it clear that he wasn’t comfortable with all the attention, but he bore up under it well. Cassie thought she deserved some credit for having relaxed him so thoroughly that afternoon. Her gaze dropped to the braised beef at the thought. If she’d relaxed him, he’d made her feel desirable.

At the end of the meal, Lady Agnes rose. “Miss Fox, Emily, let us withdraw to the morning room and leave the gentlemen to their port.”

Seeing Cassie’s expression, Lady Agnes said, “You’re surprised that I’m so conventional?”

“Yes,” Cassie admitted as she got to her feet. “I thought you only conform to customs when they suit you.”

Lady Agnes grinned. “You’re very perceptive. Sometimes it suits me to withdraw, and when I do, I have a decanter of the same excellent Ballard port in the morning room.”

Cassie glanced at Grey. He looked wary but resigned to being left with the general and Kirkland. After he gave her a small nod of reassurance, she left with the two older women. Closing the morning room door behind her, she said, “I’d like some of that port to support me in the upcoming interrogation, please.”

Lady Agnes poured three glasses of tawny port and distributed them. “I want to know more about Wyndham’s captivity and rescue. If I ask him directly, he’ll get all stiff and stoic and claim that all is well.”

“Perhaps,” Emily Cantwell said thoughtfully. “But he was always better at speaking his mind than most of our boys.”

“Then, yes,” Lady Agnes agreed. “But he was in reserved English gentleman mode this evening.” She fixed Cassie with a gimlet gaze. “I won’t ask you to violate his privacy, but”—her face tightened—“will he ever … be himself again?”

“He is himself, though it’s a self formed by traveling an unexpected path,” Cassie said gently. “He will become more relaxed in society, I’m sure. But he will never be that uncomplicated golden boy again.”

Lady Agnes exhaled. “I knew that, of course, but it helps to hear it from the woman who knows him best. Of course he’s been changed by his experiences. But I pray that in time he’ll be whole and happy.”

“I always thought he’d be a wonderful father,” Miss Emily said. “He was so patient with the younger boys.” Both women turned assessing gazes on Cassie.

“Are you planning on giving me the lecture about not developing expectations of Wyndham?” she asked with acid sweetness. “No need, Kirkland has already done so.”

Lady Agnes winced. “I didn’t intend a lecture. You’re a woman of the world and you understand the situation. But I do want to thank you for all you’ve done. For rescuing him, for being there as he recovers from all he’s endured. I suspect the price for you will be high.”

“As you say, I am a woman of the world. I have no illusions.” Cassie sipped the excellent port, thinking that Lady Agnes’s comment was another oblique reference to Grey’s general lovability. “Since we are hinting around the subject of Wyndham’s future, I will give you my private opinion. I wouldn’t be surprised if he never marries. Or if he does, it would be far in the future.”

Miss Emily’s brows arched. “You can’t convince me that he has lost his appreciation of women!”

No one knew better than Cassie how much Grey liked women, but this conversation had crystallized an insight. “He likes women very well, but after ten years behind bars, he hates being trapped by society, by responsibility, by other people’s expectations. He will not shirk those responsibilities, but I think that he will see marriage as one set of bars that he can avoid.”

After a long silence, Lady Agnes said, “You’re remarkably clear-sighted, Miss Fox. As a woman who has avoided the bars myself, I can understand that.”

“But it will be a waste of a good father,” Miss Emily said with a sigh.

Grey and Cassie had agreed that afternoon that for discretion’s sake, they should sleep in their separate rooms. But in the dark hours after midnight, Grey’s resolve snapped when a nightmare of darkness and desolation yanked him awake.

Shaking, he crossed the corridor to Cassie’s room. She woke instantly, as a good spy needed to do, and equally swiftly recognized her visitor. Silently she extended a hand. He took it gratefully and slid into the bed next to her.